Shelter
by Scape Goat
Summary: The greatest shelter is never found within four walls, nor hidden behind locked doors, but in the warmth of an embrace. Anderson x Seras


**Author's Note**: I owe many thanks to AbaddonNox who beta read for me and offered _many_ helpful suggestions. This wouldn't be half as great if not for her, so give her a hand and check out her works.

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**Shelter**

The rolling drums of thunder were distant, low and followed with an inevitable flash of lightning. Rain pattered against the windowpanes in a gentle drizzle. Not so loud that it produced a grating distraction, but enough to make one well aware of it's presence. Such dreary weather was welcome in London these days, where it washed the wounds of World War III clean, willing them to heal.

Alexander Anderson pursed his lips and looked away from the window. The former paladin never felt cleansed by these heavenly baptisms.

It had been two years since the mad Major's war had left London and the Church – as well as the great vampire Alucard – in ruin. Iscariot had fallen to pieces, Enrico Maxwell's tirade of power-mad destruction sealing its fate. Every last member was left excommunicated and abandoned. They were outcasts to begin with, only able to serve God through bloodshed, and now even that purpose was denied them. The black sheep were pushed from the herd once more - ostracized scapegoats as their salvation became their sin.

Anderson could still vividly recall standing in London's smoldering ashes. Covered in blood that was not his own, he had screamed obscenities at the woman who ordered his arrest, as well as the inky tendrils that heeded said command. In retrospect, Integral's eyes were cold but not flinty, and the vampiric bounds never tightened beyond what was needed to restrain his wounded body. Anderson technically became a prisoner of the Crown, his incarceration entrusted to the only organization capable of understanding and handling a regenerator.

Is it really captivity though, if you have nowhere else to go?

After a few tense months, his life slowly descended into something almost resembling normal. Anderson was more a guest at the rebuilt Hellsing estate than a prisoner. But the latter was an illusion the former paladin clutched to, and most were willing to humor him. Millennium was eradicated, and there had been no hint of any supernatural activity in months. Though it was difficult to believe, Anderson considered it likely that the only monster left in this world was the one whose presence he felt with a slight shiver across the back of his neck.

There was a gentle knock at the door, barely audible over the sounds of the storm. Anderson chuckled. Despite how often Seras Victoria paid visits to his quarters, he couldn't help but be amused at her persistent politeness. It appeared she still had not adopted her late master's abandon for physical barriers - or mental ones for that matter.

"Father," her voice called. "Are you there?"

He frowned slightly at his former title, but refrained from correcting her. Anderson could not get angry when he himself remained attached to his old life. The cross around his neck was smaller, but never forgotten. A bible and several other holy scriptures were scattered in the clutter of his room, intentionally stowed away because he hadn't the heart to remove them completely.

"Aye," he answered finally. "You can come in."

At a certain point in his life, Anderson might have felt compelled to tidy his living space at least minutely before permitting a guest. But, as his eyes scanned the room, he simply didn't possess the energy. When it came to his unkempt bed and endless stacks of books, he couldn't care less.

"You were reading?" Seras sounded surprised as she entered. "The storm doesn't distract you?" The bellowing cracks of thunder were strengthening with every new clap, agreeing with her sentiment.

Anderson shook his head. Reading was the only pastime he had left. Hours were dedicated to devouring every subject the archives of Hellsing manor had to offer, engrossing himself on whatever convenient distraction presented itself. These days Alexander Anderson was a scholar, not a slayer. And it barely kept him sane.

Seras made a passing inventory of his reading material. If she was looking for a pattern or connection between the volumes gathered there, he wished her luck.

Anderson watched her, mind wandering. Alucard's fledgling had grown into a uniquely mortal monster. Despite how she now accepted her vampiric form, her human nature refused to fade. After the war, not once had he seen her overcome by her power, nor by the need for blood. Seras never played games the way her master had, tormenting and relishing in a brawl. Her battles were fought swiftly with a sort of solid determination, and soiled blood had never passed her lips.

Seras Victoria intrigued him. She made what Anderson believed about vampires for the entirety of his life slowly come under scrutiny. She acted human enough, and his old self would have written that off as a guise without hesitation. Though, the more he watched her, the less he considered her a monster.

Of course, he mused silently, that was thanks to a human. She fought for her captain, her lost lover. Pip Bernadotte must have been an admirable man, for who else in this world was able to redeem what should have been damned?

"Have you actually read all these?" the vampire asked. "Or are you just trying to look clever?"

Anderson frowned. _That_ had sounded like Alucard.

A set of pearly fangs appeared as she smiled, confirming the statement as a playful jibe. Though the look quickly vanished when it was not returned. A year ago, Anderson would've played along, but such things rarely amused him now.

Losing interest in his books, Seras' gaze settled on the window. She watched the steady onslaught of the rain with a certain sort of fascination. "May I ask you something?"

This piqued the former priest's interest. During their time together, Anderson had always been the one with the questions. In his constant musings over Seras, the thought never arose that the curiosity was mutual. But now, it seemed stupidly obvious that the vampire had been silently studying him during his attempts to do the same.

"Of course," Anderson answered and turned to face her fully.

Her mouth curved downward slightly. Anderson recognized this small tick. It appeared when Seras was weighing her words. She moved closer to the window and raised her shadowed limb to touch the glass. The lightning appeared in shorter intervals, illuminating her pale skin in an eerie glow.

"My father used to tell me," Seras began carefully. "That the greatest shelter you can find is not within four walls, but in the arms of someone who loves you.

"That's why, in storms like this, children will crawl inside their parents' bed. It's not safer by any physical means, but it provides the perfect sense of comfort." black fingers followed the paths of raindrops across the window thoughtfully. "Though, most humans don't seem to realize it. They waste time and money building stronger walls and tighter locks, then wonder why they still feel insecure. Children are the only ones who seem to understand, and sleep soundly because of it."

Crimson eyes sought him out, their expression strangely solemn. "The orphans did that too, didn't they?" Seras asked quietly. "When you lived in Rome?"

Anderson took his time before responding, the silence only disrupted by the crashing rounds of thunder. The question was perfectly valid and not exactly intrusive, but the subject itself stirred emotion that he had decided long ago was better off forgotten.

Eventually, he nodded and received a touched glance in return. Seras leaned against the wall, watching the storm from the corner of her eye. "I've never told anyone this before, but," she smiled fondly. "I love the rainy nights."

Intrigue crossed over Anderson's features. "Bit of an odd thing to keep quiet," he spoke with mild curiosity.

Seras' face flushed as her gaze lowered to the ground. "It's a little pathetic," she confessed. "But, after my parents passed away and I lived at the orphanage, I would pretend to hate it. When a storm came, I'd cover my ears and I'd cry just like everyone else."

She turned back to the window, pressing her forehead against the cold glass."So I wouldn't have to be alone," she murmured. "If only for a little while."

Rising slowly, Anderson moved to stand behind her. He felt a strange sense of melancholy from her words. The feeling was familiar, but he couldn't quite grasp it. Gloved fingers brushed the ends of Seras' hair, replacing the emotion with something tangible.

At night, the window acted like a black mirror, within which his reflection appeared distorted and morose. His eyes looked hollow and his skin unearthly gray. There was no emotion, no _life_ within his features. Anderson was wasting away, the shadowed half of his face devouring the light.

According to the mirror, nothing stood between Anderson and his polluted reflection. But, he _felt_ the border, saw it with his eyes and touched it with his fingertips. Anderson pressed his face against Seras' hair, escaping into a scent that reminded him vaguely of church crypts - the comforting aroma of the hallowed dead.

"Seras Victoria," his voice sounded too distant, too unfamiliar as he embraced the figure before him, pressing her gently against his chest.

No shock registered within her features, she merely relaxed against him. It was as if she had expected this, predicted the outcome before Anderson even considered the situation.

Her shadowy limb lost form and soft tendrils curled around Anderson's body, seeking out his warmth. She raised her good arm to brush his cheek, fingers tracing down the smooth line of scar tissue found there. Anderson instinctively leaned into the touch. The feeling of cold skin against his own was strangely soothing.

He absently wondered how long Seras had watched him to be able to return his embrace without hesitation or question. Even after two years of obsessive study, Anderson failed to understand what compelled the vampire to even involve herself with him. He was a far cry from her captain, and certainly not suitable to fill his place. He couldn't count the number of times he'd threatened her life, or - worser still - the ones she loved. Yet, there was still this bizarre feeling of acceptance, despite the numerous sins to count against him.

Since when did monsters try to redeem men?

Anderson suddenly felt her laugh. The sound was bubbling and melodic as Seras tipped her head back to meet his gaze.

"If you wanted shelter from the storm," she teased. "You only had to ask."


End file.
